


The Life I Thought I Knew

by guessimdemoms



Category: Ben Brainard, Welcome To The Statehouse (Web Series), Welcome To The Table - Ben Brainard (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Gang Violence, Gen, Great Depression, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:49:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29853507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guessimdemoms/pseuds/guessimdemoms
Summary: It's 1927 and the Roaring Twenties are in full swing. DC is the son of a powerful oil company owner, and is set to take over his father's business and fortune. Only he'd rather be out in the world, seeing the sights, meeting people, and living like a normal twenty-year-old. One night after a disastrous party, DC walks home and is nearly robbed, only to be saved by one of the most notorious gangs in New York.The Lower 48 strike fear into the hearts of every state government; they're the best bootleggers in the country and are able to bring in more liquor then any other gang, putting a target on their backs. They come to New York after a deal gone wrong in the midwest and settle in for a quiet stay. Until they save a little rich kid from certain death....
Relationships: California/New York State/Texas (Anthropomorphic), Florida State/Louisiana (Anthropomorphic), Florida State/Washington D.C. United States (Anthropomorphic), Florida/California/New York/Texas/Louisiana/Washington D.C., New York/Texas (Hetalia), Washington D.C./Florida State/Louisiana, a mess of ships - Relationship





	1. Prologue

1931

IDC peeked her head into the backroom before stepping in the doorway with a big steaming cup of coffee. 

“Coffees on.” IDC announced walking confidently in the room.

“Thanks.” DC muttered not looking up from the papers scattered around his desk. IDC placed the mug next to her brother before sitting down on the chair next to the desk. 

“How’s the writing going?” IDC asked. 

“Terrible, listen to this.” DC ordered picking up one of the papers. _“‘A speakeasy? I’ve never been to one of those.’ I had gasped, shocked that Florida even suggested it. ‘Rich boy never been to a speakeasy before? Color me shocked.’ Texas said grinning mischievously.”_

“I think it sounds good!” IDC announced. 

“It sucks!” DC moaned, hitting his head on the table. IDC bit her lip and looked at her brother, moaning quietly over his papers. 

“Ya know, you don’t have to write a book about this.” IDC pointed out. DC picked up his head. 

“I have to, it eases the pain.” DC muttered. 

“It’s been four years Dee.” IDC said softly, squeezing DC’s shoulder. 

“I can still remember the last thing I said to them.” DC whispered. “I told Colorado to duck because The 67th Gang was firing at us. Then it was all black.” 

“It’s not your fault, DC. They lived this life, they knew the score.” IDC pointed out. 

“That’s why I need to write this book, I need to do it in their memory.” DC said, picking his head up. IDC bit her lip as DC tapped his paper with his pen before jumping up. 

“Dee that’s it!” IDC yelled. 

“Death?” DC asked before yelping as his sister smacked him.  
“Not that!” IDC said, rolling her eyes. “The old boat storage by the dock! Why don’t you go there? It might help with your memories.” 

“I thought the police burnt that.” DC whispered. 

“It’s way too fishy to burn, you know that.” IDC said making her brother snort. 

“You make a good point, I’m going down to the docks.” DC announced collecting his things. IDC watched her brother start to leave before he paused in the doorway.

“Do you think this will bring me closure?” DC whispered turning to his sister.

“Well I don’t know about that.” IDC said with a shrug. “But it might at least heal the wound a little.” 

Later that day DC wandered around the nearly empty dock, looking for the building he called home for several months four years ago. The dock was mostly silent safe for the occasional seagull call or ringing bells from little boats bobbing in the sea. DC brought his coat closer to his body as the cold sea air cut through him, as he spotted a seemingly abandoned building on the edge of the dock. Instantly he was filled with nostalgia and sadness as the building came more into sight; back in the early twentieth century, the old boat storage warehouse was mostly for ships coming in and out of the harbor for repairs or to dump their wares before heading to market. 

In the 1920s it was mostly used for gangs hiding their illegal alcohol or themselves from the law. Including The Lower Forty-Eight. 

DC touched the sides of the warehouse, wondering if it was as big back then as it felt right now. He could remember standing outside with Texas and Alabama doing shooting practice on some old barrels, Alabama yelling at him for not shooting straight and Texas defending him. DC made his way to the doors and remembered the doors whipping open at all times of the day or night with new illegal alcohol that he had to take inventory of. He touched the ancient door handle and, after taking a deep breath, entered the warehouse. 

The warehouse had seen better days, and there were more rats and a fishy smell then he remembered but DC could also remember when the warehouse was full of joy, laughter, and chaos. He remembered dancing with one of his boyfriends while Utah played the piano, arguing about the gang violence, or just waking up feeling more alive then he had in years. 

It still stung having all of that ripped away from him four years ago. 

DC paused when he felt himself step on something, and looked down to see the wet remains of Florida’s hat just laying on the ground. It had been chewed by rats, and clearly unraveling at the brim, but DC still bent down and picked it up. Overcome with emotion, DC fell on his knees and hugged the dirty, old hat close, sobbing a little as the memories all became too much. 

Four years after the loss of his friends and boyfriend, things weren’t getting any easier.


	2. Give Em a Little Swing

_When I think back to those summer months when my life changed forever, I can point to where it all began. It was a mild May afternoon in the middle of New York City in 1927. My mother was planning her spring gala to impress my father’s investors, my sister was helping her pick out napkins and place settings, and I was trying not to lose my mind._

1927

“We must have the coral tablecloth. Coral is in this season, DC sit up straight you won’t look good with a hump on your back!”

DC rolled his eyes and adjusted himself as he sat in the back of his parents towncar as it zipped through the New York City streets. His mother and sister were currently pouring over the newspaper's fashion section and DC was trying not to entertain the thought of jumping out of the moving vehicle. 

“I don’t know, I think lace is out. What do you think DC?” IDC asked. 

“I’m thinking of death right now.” DC muttered. 

“DC that’s no way to think! This is a very important party.” Mrs. Kelly scolded. 

“Mom, you have this party _every spring_. All of dad’s asshole investors come, they bring their kids, you try to marry me off to some rich lady, IDC is courted by all the investors sons, Mr. Jenkin gets drunk on the punch, and somehow, someway the band walks out halfway through their set. It’s all the same thing.” DC said before yelping as he was hit by the paper.

“Enough of that nonsense! Those asshole investors will someday be your future investors! You best be good to them!” Mrs. Kelly ordered. DC rolled his eyes again before looking out the window, trying to make out the names of the passing shops and people as the car sped away. Becoming bored again, DC turned back to his mother and sister who just flipped over to the celebrity portion of the newspaper and caught the front headline. 

_The Lower Forty-Eight Lands in New York!_

DC’s eyes went wide and he grabbed the paper. 

“What the hell Dee?” IDC yelled. 

“The Lower Forty-Eight are here!” DC yelled pointing to the headline. 

“You know in _my day_ gangs had more interesting names.” Mrs. Kelly said in a sniff. 

“Mother in you had more _union_ fights in your day then gangs.” IDC pointed out. 

_“Local authorities confirm that the notorious bootleggers ‘The Lower Forty-Eight’ have landed in New York City after a disastrous failure to expand their gang out in the midwest.”_ DC read. _“The FBI is asking for information about the gang's whereabouts and they are presumed to be armed and very dangerous.”_

“Oh it’s a load of hogwash.” Mrs. Kelly announced taking the paper back from her son. “I bet you anything they put this in the paper to scare us.” 

“Mom this is no joke, The Lower Forty-Eight are one of the most dangerous gangs out there.” DC pointed out. 

“Y’know they printed some of the members' pictures in the paper a few months ago?” IDC said twirling a piece of hair around her finger. “That Alaska was certainly very cute….” 

“Enough you two.” Mrs. Kelly ordered folding the paper. “We’ll have no more talk of that. The focus should be on the party and finding IDC a husband and securing DC’s place as future president of the company.” The town car fell into silence once again and DC resorted to looking back out the window, the thought of the gang being in New York never leaving his mind. 

At least it’d be something exciting in his life, as opposed to his normal day-to-day. 

_Little did I know, just that evening, the people who would change my life forever would be just arriving in the city, despite what the local paper said._

An old boat storage warehouse stood silent in the fog of the night on the New York City docks. The storage warehouse once had fishermen and merchants fighting for it’s space but now only held mold and the occasional rat. The silence would be broken, however, by the doors being slammed open and the old, barely used, lights flicking to life all around it. 

“Honey we’re home!” Florida yelled as the rest of The Lower Forty-Eight walked in. 

“I couldn’t have asked for a better hideout.” Texas announced putting his bags down. 

“It smells like fish.” California moaned clutching his nose. 

“We wouldn’t have this problem if someone.” Massachusetts turned and glared at Florida. “Didn’t fuck up our chances back in Alaska!”

“You accidentally initiate one cop.” Florida said rolling his eyes. “It wasn’t even my job that week, it was supposed to be Yorkie.” 

“I told you I don’t do those types of jobs!” New York yelled ready to go toe-to-toe with his boyfriend. 

“HEY, HEY.” Louisiana yelled stepping between the two. “We had a lot of failures in Alaska alright? It was no one's fault.” 

“It was kinda Florida’s.” Arizona muttered before getting elbowed by New Mexico. 

“Can we just start spreading out and checking out this warehouse? Trying to row a boat in the dead of night wiped me out.” California begged. The gang spread out across the warehouse, either finding a place for themselves and their bags or checking out around the warehouse. 

“We’ve got about half a kitchen.” Texas announced. 

“THERE’S A LOFT.” Florida yelled from the second-floor loft, the other states looking at him quizzical since there was no ladder to said loft. 

“Upstate there’s lots of farms, I betcha we can buy some hay.” New York suggested. 

“OR we rob ‘em.” Louisiana pointed out. 

“PLEASE can we PLEASE do something legal for once?” California begged. 

“You’re in a bootleggers gang that accepts shipments and sells alcohol to illegal speakeasies, and stealing _hay_ is where you draw the line?” Texas asked. 

“I mean….those poor farmers…” California muttered making all the states and his boyfriends roll their eyes. The states continued to explore and unpack just as the doors to the warehouse slammed open again. They immediately went into defensive mode, only relaxing a little when they saw Alaska standing in the doorway.

“You have to stop making entrances like that.” Connecticut said clutching his chest.

“YOU IDIOTS.” Alaska yelled. 

“Rude.” Florida muttered. 

“LOOK WHAT’S ON THE FRONT PAGE!” Alaska yelled holding out a newspaper for all to see. 

“ _The Lower Forty Eight Lands in New York!_ ” Utah read before quickly doing the sign of the cross. 

“How the FUCK did they find out?” Massachusetts yelled. Instantly they all turned to Florida who looked deep in thought.

“Was one of the recruits a reporter? I feel like I remember he was…” Florida muttered as everyone groaned. 

“DAMN IT just when I thought we could rest.” New York moaned, tossing his beanie down. The states began begrudgingly re-packing their items before Louisiana stood on one of the old milk crates. 

“GUYS.” Louisiana yelled, stopping the activity. “We need to wait this out!” 

“They know we’re here Loui.” California pointed out. 

“But they don’t know where we _are_.” Louisiana countered. “And you heard the ferryman, they haven’t used this dock since 1896, we’re pretty safe here as long as we don’t have lights on all night.” 

“What about Nature?” Alaska asked, crossing his arms. “She’ll be dropping off shipments to us, someone’s bound to notice her.” 

“We’ll just wire her and tell her to do the drop offs in the middle of the night.” Louisiana pointed out. “We need to stay here until the commotion dies down.” The states looked at each other once again before begrudgingly un-packing their items again and scattered. Louisiana jumped off the crate as Texas, New York, California, and Florida approached. 

“Do you really think we’ll be okay?” Texas asked, a surprising nervous edge to his voice. Louisiana looped an arm around Texas’s shoulders and brought his other three boyfriends close. 

“I can’t guarantee it now.” Louisiana began. “But I do know we’ll work together to keep each other safe. I can feel it in my bones.”


	3. Light 'Em Up

_Fate was slowly closing around me, but she decided to throw me a bone and try to set me up with one of the men who’d become one of my boyfriends early_.

DC sat in the middle of a boutique bored out of his mind as his mother and sister argued over dresses. The party was in two days and IDC had already turned down several dresses her mother suggested, wanting to stick to the style of the time. DC was grateful his outfit had been easily sourced, although he wished they went with the solid pink color instead of boring old gray. 

“A man does not want to marry a woman who has no shape!” Mrs. Kelly yelled. 

“He also doesn’t want to marry an old fashioned woman!” IDC argued. 

“Kill me.” DC muttered running a hand down his face. He looked out the large windows of the boutique that were facing the street, and his eye caught a bookshop nestled between two cafes across the street. 

“Mom, can I go look in the bookshop?” DC asked. 

“Go ahead honey, we’ll be here awhile.” Mrs. Kelly announced as IDC rolled her eyes. DC went back to the dressing room to change into his street clothes before hurrying out into the busy New York streets. He crossed at the light before hurrying into the bookshop, instantly hit with the smell of old paper, perfume, and cigar smoke. The bookshop was two floors and was wall to wall, ceiling to floor, full of books. DC took a deep breath and sighed happily. 

He was home. 

DC always loved books; he read at a fifth grade level when he was just starting school and would rather be in his room reading then meeting up with friends in the city (not that he had any friends). He always dreamed of being an author, but being the oldest son of the family didn’t grant him that privilege. He was always descended to take over his father’s position at the oil company, and there was no fighting that. 

Shaking the thought from his mind, DC hurried up to the second floor of the bookshop, well aware that was where shop owners kept the mystery books and classic lt. He scanned the shelves as he wandered around before pausing, and pulling a medium sized green book off the shelf. DC flipped open the front cover, and was starting to read when he felt a tap on his shoulder. 

“Sorry, you mind grabbing me that yellow book?” A man asked, pointing to a book above him. The man wore a casual dress shirt and slacks, but DC noted he had a blue bucket hat on with flamingos all around it. 

“ _Oh no he’s cute_.” DC thought but quickly shook it away and smiled. 

“Course!” DC reached up and grabbed the book off the top shelf, handing it to the man. 

“Hey thanks!” The man said with a manic grin. DC went back to reading his book, well aware that the man never left his side. He occasionally looked out the corner of his eye and noted the man looked like he was struggling to read. 

“You okay?” DC asked. 

“Oh! Yeah I am, the books just not in Floridian so I can’t read it.” The man announced cheerfully. 

“Florid--nevermind. Here.” DC put his book down and grabbed the stranger’s opening the front page. 

“ _FRANK and Joe Hardy clutched the grips of their motorcycles and stared in  
horror at the oncoming car. It was careening from side to side on the narrow  
road.  
"He'll hit us! We'd better climb this hillside- and fast!" Frank exclaimed, as  
the boys brought their motorcycles to a screeching halt and leaped off.  
"On the double!" Joe cried out as they started up the steep embankment.  
To their amazement, the reckless driver suddenly pulled his car hard to the  
right and turned into a side road on two wheels. The boys expected the car to  
turn over, but it held the dusty ground and sped off out of sight.  
"Wow!" said Joe. "Let's get away from here before the crazy guy comes  
back. That's a dead-end road, you know."  
The boys scrambled back onto their motorcycles and gunned them a bit to get  
past the intersecting road in a hurry. They rode in silence for a while, gazing  
at the scene ahead.  
On their right an embankment of tumbled rocks and boulders sloped steeply  
to the water below. From the opposite side rose a jagged cliff. The  
little-traveled road was winding, and just wide enough for two cars to pass.  
"Boy, I'd hate to fall off the edge of this road," Frank remarked. "It's a  
hundred-foot drop."  
"That's right," Joe agreed. "We'd sure be smashed to bits before we ever  
got to the bottom." Then he smiled. "Watch your step, Frank, or Dad's  
papers won't get delivered_.” DC read, trying to ignore the gleam of joy in the strangers eyes. 

“That’s so cool!” The man gasped. 

“You picked a good one, I used to love the Hardy Boys.” DC announced closing the book and handing it back to the stranger. 

“I’m definitely forcing Loui to read this to me tonight.” The man said happily, tucking the book under one arm and sticking out his hand. “I’m Florida.” 

“DC.” DC said with a smile, taking Florida’s hand and shaking it. He tried to ignore the spark that went through his arm as their hands touched, or the rising redness in his cheeks. Out of the corner of his eye, DC caught, tucked in Florida’s tucked waist, a silver gun sticking out casually. He caught his breath. 

“DC!” DC heard his mother calling from the bottom floor. “We’re ready to go!”

“That’s my mom, I got to go.” DC announced. 

“I’m sure I’ll see you around DC!” Florida said with a small wave as DC hurried downstairs back to his waiting mom and sister. As the three headed out looking for their town car, Florida, and the weapon, never left DC’s mind. The only people he knew who carried weapons on them casually were bootleggers. 

But Florida couldn’t be a bootlegger, right? 

Later that night at the docks, two dark figures waited by the storage warehouse, which also had all light snuffed out inside. 

“So how did Nature find us again?” New Mexico asked. 

“Like Nevada says, she has her ways.” Texas mumbled lighting up his cigarette. The two states waited quietly in the dark before a lone light shone from the ocean. 

“That might be her.” New Mexico whispered as Texas prepared him. He walked over to the edge of the dark and tried to make out the approaching bright light. 

“Mother Nature that you?” Texas called. 

“Will be on shore in two minutes!” Mother Nature yelled back, calming New Mexico and Texas fears only for a brief minute. The light got closer and closer until a small dingy filled with large crates and rowed by a young woman, fast approached the dock. 

“Heads!” Mother Nature yelled, tossing a rope at the two bootleggers. New Mexico caught the rope and quickly tied the boat securely, bringing the boat closer to the dock. 

“How are you doing Mother Nature? Claire?” Texas asked tipping his hat at the two ladies. 

“Nature my arms hurt.” Claire whined, rubbing her arms. 

“Oh it wasn’t that bad, quit being a baby.” Mother Nature ordered rolling her eyes before hitting one of the crates. “One hundred fifty bottles of alcohol, straight from Canada, as you ordered.” 

“Great. You pay the lady, I’ll start bringing these to shore.” Texas ordered. New Mexico immediately began handing over the cash as Texas started picking up the large crates and placing them on the dock. He had just moved to grab the last one when a whistle broke through the silence. 

“Hey cowboy!” A man yelled and all four occupants froze. A gang of well-dressed, intimidating looking men fast approached, looking cocky and ready for a fight. 

“Jesus Christ not them.” Claire muttered. 

“So it is true what they say.” The leader said approaching New Mexico and Texas. “The Lower Forty-Eight really are here.” 

“Who are you?” Texas asked, crossing his arms. 

“I’m Ryan Hester, I run The 67th, we’re the biggest bootleggers in this city.” Ryan announced. 

“Looks like you’re about to get some competition, eh?” New Mexico said with a smirk. 

“Competition? Please. I heard about you a lot back when you were out in the midwest, you don’t even have a _leader_.” Ryan mocked. New Mexico could see Texas looked ready to blow his top, and quickly moved to defuse the situation. 

“We don’t need a leader, we can handle ourselves.” New Mexico announced. The 67th Gang looked between the two states before bursting into laughter. 

“You can barely handle interviewing new recruits, let alone your business!” Ryan said with a laugh. “If I had someone like that Florida on my team he would’ve been sleeping with the fishes mon--” Ryan never finished his sentence, because Texas jumped forward and hit him square in the face. Instantly the rest of the 67th gang surrounded the two states as an all out brawl broke out. 

“Y’know what, you can pay me later.” Mother Nature announced, untying her boat and Claire rowing away as fast as she could. The brawl caused so much commotion, that the lights snapped on in the warehouse and the doors whipped open. 

“ALRIGHT a fight!” Florida cheered as the rest of The Lower Forty-Eight joined. The fight went on for a good solid minute before both sides managed to separate Texas and Ryan.

“You just made a powerful enemy Lower Forty-Eight!” Ryan yelled. 

“Talk to us when _we run this town_!” Texas yelled. The 67th gang walked off, dragging their leader with them, as the states attempted to calm down. 

“Who was that?” Louisiana panted. 

“The 67th Gang, they’re also selling alcohol here.” New Mexico explained wiping some blood off his face. 

“Hoo boy we don’t do good with competition.” California muttered. “Remember back in Chicago? We nearly burnt the city down again.” 

“I appreciate that we didn’t.” Illinois announced. 

“Look we’ll only be here for a few weeks, if we can keep out of their hair, they’ll keep out of ours.” Massachusetts pointed out. 

“I don’t know how easy that’ll be.” Texas muttered picking up his discarded hat from the ground. “The bootleg business is one hell of a competitive business.”


	4. I'm Driving Here I Sit, Cursing My Government

_I remember the night of the ball being slightly chilly in that early-spring air stage of May, and me being very uncomfortable in the suit mom purchased me. IDC of course charmed, but I remained mostly alone, since I never really made a lot of friends back in school._

DC was in hell, he was sure of it.

His mother’s spring gala was going off without a hitch and everyone was gathered in the rented ballroom chatting, making deals, or dancing on the dance floor as the band played softly behind them. Everyone who was anyone in society was there; businessmen, investors, old money, new money, business owners and more were all gathered in their groups mingling. DC stood alone by the large windows of the ballroom, tired and wishing he could just go home. His mom floated around the room to the various guests checking to see if everything was up to standard, his father was in a large group of investors talking about the up-in-coming businesses and how to crush them, costs, and any talk of union uprisings. IDC, of course, was in the middle of a circle of college-aged men who were all trying to get a dance out of her that evening. 

His mom tried to do the same for DC at the start of the gala, but he tried talking news to her and she decided he was too boring to talk to. 

DC downed his drink and placed the glass on a tray carried by a passing waiter. Maybe if he went into the bathrooms and dunked his head in the sink, he could play sick and go home. He began making his way to the bathroom when he felt an elbow around his shoulders. 

“HEY DC HOW YA DOIN’ PAL?” A clearly drunken man greeted. 

“Oh….hey Dean.” DC muttered trying to get away from the drunken man. While Dean and DC were never friends in their years of schooling, Dean was always convinced they were and tried to follow DC everywhere. DC always found him more annoying than charming. 

“Your sister is _hot_ my guy. I can’t believe that scrawny girl in our kindergarten class grew up to be that bombastic.” Dean said with a laugh. 

“That’s great Dean.” DC said managing to get himself out of Dean’s grip and continuing his way to the bathroom. 

“Hey man, tell me, is there a special person in your life?” Dean asked cutting DC off. 

“Nah, I took a vow of celibacy.” DC dead-banned trying to get around Dean.

“CLASSIC DC. You couldn’t even get a _date_ in high school if you _paid_ a chick.” Dean said with a laugh. DC felt his blood boil. 

“I _had_ partners in high school, Dean.” DC hissed. 

“Oh yeah, wasn’t that guy emotionally _abusive_ or something? Man you attract the _worst kind of people_.” Dean said with a laugh. 

“He tortured me my entire sophomore year!” DC yelled, his yell catching the attention of a few guests. 

“Mmm is that what they’re calling it now? I thought they called it ‘making out in the bathroom between periods’.” Dean mocked. DC gritted his teeth and wound back and punched Dean square in the face, knocking him to the floor. 

“GEORGE. KELLY.” Mrs. Kelly yelled as the entire gala fell to silence. “What the hell did you do?” 

“He INSULTED me, mom!” DC yelled defending himself. 

“You apologize to that boy _right now_.” Mrs. Kelly hissed approaching her son. “His father owns Capital Oil and is one of your father’s potential advisors! He could be out a lot of money because of you!”

“IS THAT ALL YOU CARE ABOUT?” DC yelled. “I don’t give a damn about the money! He was talking shit about me, and was creepy towards IDC!”

“George Kelly apologized right now, that is an _order_.” Mrs. Kelly said, crossing her arms. DC glared at his mother before spinning on his heel and storming out.

“Where are you going?” Mrs. Kelly demanded. 

“Home! I’d rather be alone than with parents who only care about their kids when their MONEY IS AFFECTED.” DC yelled before leaving the ballroom, slamming the door behind him.

DC walked through the park later that night in the cool early-spring air, far away from the gala but still fuming. He could still hear the mocking tone in Dean’s voice, the sting of betrayal when his mother wanted him to apologize instead of asking Dean to leave, and the hatred of the life he was born into. 

“It’s not fucking fair.” DC hissed, kicking a small pebble. “When they get back, I’ll probably have to hear about how I ruined all of IDC’s potential suitors for her. All they care about is money, money, money!” DC continued to walk down the path, ignoring a man sitting on a bench reading the paper, and not seeing him slowly fold the paper and stand up with two men popping out of the bushes. 

“I should run away, I know I have some family in Texas. That’ll show mom and dad that they should care about their future heir instead of their money.” DC muttered. Suddenly he felt his arm grabbed and he was thrown to the ground with a shout. 

“Well, well, well.” One of the men said approaching DC smirking. “Little rich boy out for a walk?” 

“W-What do you want?” DC asked feeling his heart race as he attempted to scoot away. One of the men jumped behind DC, blocking his path and providing no escape. 

“How much money you got?” The man asked. DC quickly fumbled in his pocket, blood freezing when he realized he forgot his wallet when he left that evening. 

“I….I don’t have any money on me.” DC whispered. The man grabbed DC but his vest and forced him to stand. 

“You’re lying, how much money do you have?” The man demanded. 

“I HAVE NOTHING! I promise!” DC begged, feeling tears well in his eyes. The second man, who blocked DC’s escape, pulled a knife out of his pocket and with a swoop swiped his leg causing DC to cry out. 

“PLEASE DON’T HURT ME!” DC begged as the first man tossed him on the ground. The second man gave the first the knife and he approached DC slowly, crouching in front of him and holding the knife to his throat.

“One last time.” The man hissed. “Where’s your money?” 

“I-If you follow me back to my home, I’ll give you whatever you want!” DC cried. The man smirked. 

“Not good enough.” The man announced, pressing the knife into his throat. DC closed his eyes and prayed the robber would be quick, when a gunshot went off in front of them. All four turned, and DC’s eyes went wide with shock. Florida stood in front of them with two other men behind him, holding his gun to the sky, which he slowly lowered to the robbers level. 

“Leave him alone.” Florida ordered. 

“Yeah? You and whose army?” The man asked, turning around. 

“You don’t want to go messin’ with The Lower Forty-Eight now do you?” One of the men with Florida asked, in a thick Cajun accent.

“ _I knew he was a gangster_!” DC thought. 

“T-The Lower Forty-Eight?” The man stuttered as he and his men became increasingly nervous. “W-We didn’t mean….I mean….we just needed some money…” 

“I’ll give you till the count of three to get out of here.” Florida hissed, prepping his gun. “One….” The men all ran off into the dark, one even dropping the knife, too frightened to take on the seasoned gang. As soon as they were out of eyesight, Florida’s expression instantly changed, and he tucked the gun away.

“Good thing they didn’t test that, huh? I can’t count past five!” Florida said cheerfully. 

“Fuck my leg!” DC yelled, drawing the three’s attention to him.

“Dee! What did they do?” Florida asked, kneeling besides the young man.

“That cut looks awfully deep.” The third man, in a Boston accent, muttered studying the wound. 

“I-I need to go to a hospital.” DC groaned clutching his leg. 

“If we drop him off, the police will be on our tail.” The man with the Cajun accent pointed out. 

“But he’s hurt Loui!” Florida cried and DC was thankful at least one of the three was more concerned over the injury than being exposed. 

“I can see that, sha, but the hospital will start asking questions.” “Loui” pointed out. 

“I promise I won’t say anything!” DC said drawing the three’s attention back to him.

“We know that, sha.” “Loui” said with a soft smile before turning to the other two. “CDC should be arriving tomorrow, he can fix him up.” 

“Can you walk?” The man with the Boston accent asked. DC attempted to stand up, but cried out in pain and fell back to the ground. 

“I’ll carry him!” Florida announced grabbing DC’s arm, pulling him up, and instantly putting him in the bridal position. 

“Ya know I can help right?” The man with the Boston accent pointed out. 

“Nah I got it….” Florida grunted, struggling to walk. 

“A-Am I being taken hostage?” DC asked nervously. 

“Nah, we’re going to get you a bed for the night.” “Loui” explained patting his shoulder. 

“Plus Coco made some awesome chilli tonight!” Florida added beginning to get out of breath. “You need to try it.” 

“O-Okay.” DC muttered as the three began walking out of the park to God knows where. He expected The Lower Forty-Eight to be as tough as nails, ready to kill anyone in their path and leave a trail of bodies behind. Instead one of the members, who looked ready to pass out carrying him, was offering him chilli and the other two wanted to get him fixed.

Life was weird.


End file.
